


show me how

by thalassashells



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, Nonbinary Character, Other, cooking nonsense, hey i know we're on the run from the cops but that doesnt mean we cant have a nice night probably, i write a lot of fics about people taking breaks huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassashells/pseuds/thalassashells
Summary: Two grown dark knights make a big deal out of making dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jailedbard (twoheadedenby)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoheadedenby/gifts).



> i was asked for fluff and i did my best so i hope someone out there gets something out of it. i love sid and fray more than my life and i have never and can never do them justice as the best romance in all of final fantasy except for like terra/celes maybe. thank you.

“Could you come inside? Someone’s going to get suspicious, and you’re going to get sick.”

   Fray grunts and pulls their sword once again from the battered training dummy. They’re sweating through their tunic despite the bitter cold, their arms aching and fingers so numb they’re likely to drop the blade. They can only see by torchlight from the window of the small cabin they and Sidurgu are currently calling home. 

   “Who’s going to get suspicious?” Fray huffs, swinging again to cut a deep gash in the dummy’s neck, the soaking wet wood taking it quietly. They dig it in just to hear something crack, prying out splinters as they remove it again.  

   Sidurgu points generally north at the Ishgardian outposts dotting the snowy horizon. Fray looks with a grimace, like their resentment would be felt all those miles away. They reluctantly tuck the sword back into its snow-soaked sheath and haul it over their shoulder to trudge down the hill to the house.

   The warm smell of burning wood makes them less reluctant to be inside as they draw closer. The two of them are only out here by necessity, laying low for a couple of months after a nasty brush with the knights. They have grown used to having no permanent place to speak of, but at least they can always bring each other.

  Their master had insisted they all go separate ways for the time being, but Sidurgu argued that Fray wasn’t ready to be on the run on their own yet. For once, Fray hadn’t leaped to defend their skill and happily left at Sidurgu’s side.

   Once they’re inside they kick off their boots – one lands a good couple of feet away from the other – and pull the sword from their back. Just as they’re about to throw that too, Sidurgu raises a hand from whatever he’s slaving over at the kitchen counter:

   “Don’t toss that around in the house.”

   Fray stops and leans it gently against the wall beside the door, “Let me toss it around outside, then.”

   “Do you want to freeze to death?” He asks, setting a pan they had brought from the city on the stove. Neither thought Gibrillont would miss it much. On the table in front of him he has some eggs in a bowl, assorted vegetables, and a block of cheese that he’d picked up in Falcon’s nest earlier in the day. When they could afford to spend their meager gil, it typically went to food nicer than stale bread.

   “I want to train. Halone’s sake, I can take care of myself. I just want to be ready if something happens.” They flop down in a ratty chair in front of the fireplace, letting feeling flow back into their face and hands.

   “You’ll be useless when something happens if you pull something training.”

   “You’re one to talk! Where’d your discipline go, just because we’re not in the city?”

   Sidurgu sighs, “I know. Let’s just…take it easy today, all right?” His voice wavers almost imperceptibly.

   “What in the hells has gotten into you?” Fray grumbles, “Any other day you’d be out there with me.”

   He’s quiet for a bit. The sizzle of eggs being poured into the pan fills the empty space.

   “We never get time to…relax.” Sidurgu manages. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

   “…Not really.” Fray shrugs, but the bite is gone from their voice. They were ever restless in places like this, where there is no bustle and no conflict to be found in the vast planes of snow. The nearest settlement is Falcon’s Nest, only feasibly reachable by currently stabled and sleeping chocobos, and a bore besides.

   Perhaps that was the problem. Sidurgu cooked, Sidurgu cleaned, Sidurgu tended to his gear like it was a holy batch of artifacts, Sidurgu read anything he could nick from the bookstore closest to the Brume. (Sometimes Fray would even pick something up for him, if it was lying around. Sidurgu always got a kick out of the stories they told about snagging them from nobles who had been foolish enough to leave their things unattended.)

   Fray…cannot remember the last time they read something that did not involve the teachings of dark knights long past. There were certainly plenty to study, and their focus for it was razor sharp, but those words and Sidurgu were all that filled the quiet spaces when they could not be _moving._

   They can’t complain about the fireside warmth and the smell of further ingredients being piled into the omelets Sidurgu was making, but it felt like being part of a scene in a painting hanging on someone else’s wall. They wish they were running.

   Sidurgu yelps from the kitchen, followed quickly by the deafening clang of an iron pan on the stove. Fray leaps to their feet, shaken instantly from their uneasy attempt at mellowing out, and runs to Sidurgu’s side.

   “Shite! Dammit!” Sidurgu hisses through his teeth, holding one of his hands tight to his chest with the other. The pan has been shoved to the side, the omelet in it already ruined from sitting in the heat too long.

   “You go and hurt yourself?” Fray asks, gesturing for him to reveal his hand.

   Sidurgu places the injured hand in Fray’s, and they gently turn it to look it over. An ugly red blotch marks his fingertips, one talon most likely chipped in the frantic toss of the hot pan. Sidurgu is looking away from them, reluctant to show that such a small thing was hurting him.

   “Give me just a minute…” Fray starts to focus on the burn, hovering one hand above Sidurgu’s that began to glow a faint white.

   After barely a few seconds, hardly enough to even take the edge off the pain, Sidurgu interrupts: “It’s fine. Let me get back to it.” There was little he hated more than being taken from something he was in the middle of. Fray clicks their tongue.

   “What were you saying about relaxing? I said a minute, Sid.” They say firmly. Sidurgu bends easily to their sterner tones, relaxing in their grasp as the magic finally starts to work, easing the redness away.   They liked having a chance to do things like this. Not seeing Sidurgu hurt, but being able to do something about it, however pathetic their healing.

   Getting to hold him wasn’t so bad either.

   Fray is done soon, like they promised, finishing with a kiss to the previously afflicted fingertips. Sidurgu’s inevitable flush brings a smile to their face.

   “There, now you can get back to it.” They nod.

   “Finally.” Sidurgu tries, and fails, to sound irritable. He turns around and scrapes the failed remains of the omelet into the bin by the table, then takes stock of his remaining ingredients. It was a good thing he bought extra.

   “Hold on.” Fray says, squeezing up next to him at the small counter.

   “What?” He reaches past them to grab a knife to cut more of the cheese.

   “Show me how.” They intercept, grabbing the knife from his hands. Boring or not, it filled the time, and it never hurt to know more about cooking.

   Sidurgu quirks his brow. “All right.”

   Sidurgu slides behind Fray and places his hands on theirs. He guides them in slicing the cheese first, into large slices and then blocks. His hands are unsteady with the more precise movements, but Fray is there to catch the potential slips under his guidance.

   As Fray moves to crack and whisk the eggs, Sidurgu’s hands slide from theirs to rest around their waist, his chin on top of their head to watch.

   “You don’t need to stir so roughly.”

   “Why not? It won’t hurt it.” Fray argues.

   With Sidurgu’s warmth against them, it was somewhat soothing to go through the simple processes. They were starting to understand what Sidurgu got out of it.

   Well, perhaps. It was probably less enjoyable without someone draped over their back.

   “You’ll crack the bowl. It’s good now, anyway. Pour it into the pan.”

   --

   The first one comes out a little burnt, and Fray anxiously turns their fork in their hand while wondering if it was safe to eat. Sidurgu was always better with timing things.

   “Are you going to try it? It looks fine.” Sidurgu says, carving his fork into his own – that one had cooked more evenly, so Fray insisted that he have it despite all protests.

   “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” Fray cuts off a small chunk with their fork, making sure to get just enough that all the ingredients were present. Cheese with bits of mushroom and onion ooze out of the egg left behind.  

   …It is, despite the quiet worry that once it was in their mouth it would turn to sludge, fine. It isn’t perfect, it isn’t the best they’ve ever eaten (Sidurgu’s were always better), but it was fine. Fray has grown comfortable with the idea of ‘okay’ being enough, sometimes. Sidurgu smiles one of his rare, warm smiles at them and gets to eating his.

   Feeling proud that they’d achieved something so simple was strange, but there was no other word for what they felt watching Sidurgu enjoy something they’d made with their own hands.

   Over dinner, Fray starts to hop in to mention other things they want to learn to cook. Pastries, soups, that sirloin Gibrillont cooked up most nights.

  They hope Sidurgu is keeping a mental list, because they’re certainly never going to remember.


End file.
